Hot as Fire
by Helvetica Black
Summary: She finally got away. Away from the trouble, away from the supernatural bullshit she had once (stupidly) wanted to be part of. And now, now it's back. Stumbling into the interrogation room, ruining the normal life she'd spent years creating. Trouble was a stubborn fucker, and it seemed determined to follow her wherever the fuck she went.


**I. Lieutenant**

* * *

It's like a bear mauling gone bad, thought Detective Collin Littlesea as he slipped under the red tape and away from the crime scene. Terribly bad. None of the other "bear attacks" were this bad. This was just plain disgusting.

He silently fought the urge to vomit. He had a job to do, and it wouldn't do to pollute the scene with partially digested hamburgers. God, even just the thought of hamburger patties and the way they looked like the victim's entrails...

He almost heaved but caught himself just in time as Chief of Police William Cane strode into the scene, long frame suited in grey and chalk stripes.

Chief Cane regarded Littlesea with his signature cold glare, and said one word that would have made the younger detective, were he a lesser man, shit his pants.

"Report."

He didn't have to be told twice. Only one person ever managed to cross Cane and got out of it alive, and the detective didn't have Lieutenant Bella Swan's metaphorical balls of steel.

"I..." Littlesea didn't know where to start. The vic's identity? The COD and TOD? Or maybe the person who found the body? He never had to do any of this before, it was always his partner who tackled the Chief.

And speaking of his partner...

Where on earth was Lieutenant Bella Swan? Didn't she get the phone call from Hart?

Littlesea lowered his voice and settled with, "It's kind of a mess, sir."

"I can see that for myself well enough."

He glanced at the Chief and decided to risk it. WWBSD. What would Bella Swan do? He swallowed, cleared his throat, swallowed again. "Sir. The vic was found by George Barnes about..." he glanced at his watch, "An hour ago. Our guys got to the scene and called me as soon as they taped the perimeter. They said they didn't touch anything, or the body, just taped the area. I've got more men coming in, sir, any minute now. We'll have more hands and eyes to work the scene and the vic."

"George Barnes? The arms dealer?"

Littlesea wanted to argue, but he didn't want to die just yet. Cane looked positively lethal. He obviously wasn't a morning person. The young detective knew one other person who was the same, and he felt somehow glad that she wasn't around yet. "Yes, sir. Officer Hart drove him to the precinct just ten minutes ago."

"I suppose there are no cameras here. CCTVs?"

"None, sir." Littlesea didn't feel like pointing out that there was no way anyone would put security cams out here in the woods, of all places.

No, he thought, nothing interesting happens in these woods, unless you count bears mating and wolves running around. In these woods, you only expect boring, wildlifey things to happen. You don't expect women to be given bloody deaths. Why the hell should they put cameras?

Littlesea nervously studied the scribbles in his notebook. "We have a standard on the bridge, five minutes away from here by car. And another along the highway, roughly fifteen minutes away. We don't have anything near the area, nothing that would show us what happened here or how."

Since Chief Cane hadn't spotted any signs of civilization near the scene, he'd suspected as much, but rubbed his grey eyes to clear his head again. "We need a list of people who frequent this place, people who live in the vicinity, and a schedule."

"I've got it, sir. When I got the tag, I put that together." Littlesea looked around again, trying to understand what couldn't be imagined, to accept what shouldn't be real. "Officer Jenkins was the first on the scene, sir. I've told you all I know, but he might have some things to add."

"All right. Give what you have to Swan. She'll work Barnes, and you'll work with Forensics. And check the cameras anyway. They might have something. I need to work with Jenkins."

Littlesea could have grinned when Cane left. He imagined what it might be like to wake up to an Oreo jingle. He called Hart and asked him to bring two cups of coffee back from the precinct. One with creamer and lots of sugar, and one blacker than a black hole. Hart didn't ask him what he'd need the extra cup of black coffee for. Except for the Chief, only Lieutenant Bella Swan drank her coffee black and unsweetened. And any full-grown man who would do what Littlesea was about to do would need a good bribe to escape Lieutenant Swan's imminent wrath.

He checked his watch again. Almost 4 AM. He'd be rousing a dragon. He hoped the coffee would be a good enough bribe. He did ask Hart to make it extra strong, but he wasn't sure, maybe the guy was crap at making coffee. Then he pulled out his phone and dialed his partner's number.

* * *

Damn it," Bella Swan muttered as she sat up on the bed. The world spun around her, the way it always did when she woke up mornings. Her brain felt like Jell-O, and she remembered that she was fresh out of coffee. She needed some serious beans in her bloodstream.

It was her phone's loud ringing that woke her up, and she ignored it until the ringing became unbearable. She knew it had to be Littlesea. Nobody else was brave enough — or stupid enough, depending on who you'd asked — to risk Lieutenant Bella Swan's fury by calling her at four in the morning on a Sunday.

Bella trudged to the dresser where the phone in her coat pocket screamed that annoying Oreo jingle Collin Littlesea had been talking about for weeks, and she knew then that her partner had to be murdered within the day. Within twelve hours, if possible. Goddamn Littlesea. "You changed my ringer," she said coldly when she answered the call.

"Twist lick dunk!" came Littlesea's chirpy voice.

But Bella was in a zero-bullshit-tolerance mood. Always was, but especially now. Why, she thought to herself, did I forget to buy coffee, of all things? "Explain this call now, or you'll be twist-lick-dunking your ass goodbye when I see you."

Littlesea laughed. "I like it when you talk kinky, Swan." Then a little more warily, "Have you had your coffee yet?"

God, even just him mentioning the word made her head hurt more. "No. So don't try me."

Another laugh. "I've been calling you a million times. There's another one of Helena's bear incidents. Near the bridge where people keep killing themselves. Care to show up?"

She was suddenly awake. "Shit. Another one? At fucking 4 AM?" She hurried to the bathroom and hit her shin on the toilet. "Ow! Jesus Christ!"

Littlesea giggled. Fucking giggled. Bella didn't know men could giggle. "I have your coffee, by the way," he said. "Figured it's about time you ran out." There was a pause. "See you in twenty?"

"Ten." She put her phone on loudspeaker and washed her face. "I can make ten. Forest Park, right? Near the bridge. Ten will do."

"If you say so."

"Is Cane there?"

"He just left."

"Shit."

When Bella made it to the scene, she wasn't surprised to see Helena Forensics all around the area, scouring every inch of the bloodbath that was the city's third "animal attack." They'd only called it that because there was no other way to call the grotesque deaths. It didn't matter that it was January and all the bears in the area were hibernating, or that bears never stuck close to the highways or any patch of civilization in the first place. The murders, as the deaths so obviously were, were made to look like bear attacks.

Three "bear attacks" in two weeks, Bella pondered, all at the season when bears were asleep. It was like a sick joke.

Bella grabbed the cup of coffee, which was thankfully still warm, from Littlesea's gloved hands.

"Black and watery and bitter as hell." He grinned as she took a sip. "Just the way you like it."

"Yeah, sure. Thanks." Bella took another sip and sighed, the strong aroma slowly working its magic and waking her up. It was almost worth forgiving Littlesea for the Oreo jingle and the rude awakening. Almost. She nodded at the red tape. "What do we have?"

Littlesea followed her gaze. "Helena's finest, complete with torn guts and broken bones. An unrecognizable face, or the lack thereof. Perp did some serious cosmetic surgery on this one. Stuff of nightmares."

Bella nodded. If that little could give the man nightmares, the stuff she'd seen would have given him a million heart attacks. But then that was neither here nor there. Littlesea was a normal, and normals weren't equipped to handle the Real World, which included vampires and spirit-wolves and day after day of bloodshed. She wasn't normal, of course. Never had been. If she was, she'd have run away screaming when her first boyfriend admitted that he was a vampire. Instead she took it in stride, as if he'd just told her that he used to wear braces or something.

Huge mistake.

This, by far, wasn't the worst murder case she'd handled. Or seen, for that matter. Nor was it the messiest. Bella turned to look over the red tape and at the mangled body of a woman. Forensics didn't yet move the body, it seemed like. That was a good thing. She wanted to study the scene for herself. "ID?"

"Miller, Rita Banks, twenty-three," Littlesea read from his notebook. He pulled out a transparent zip-loc plastic that had a driver's license in it. "Says this. It was in her wallet."

"She had it?" Strange.

Littlesea nodded. "She still had everything." He paused, then frowned. "Except all her body parts intact, that is. Thing is, nothing was stolen from her. Which is good, if not weird. We couldn't have ID'ed her otherwise."

"It's that bad," Bella noted. She took a long sip of coffee. It was a good brew. She wondered if Littlesea made it himself.

"That bad," Littlesea agreed. "Face torn off. Mouth and jaw smashed in, so dental ID might take a while, if it's even possible."

"What if it was planted? May be someone else's wallet, someone else's license," she muttered, more to herself than to her partner. She put the cup on Littlesea's 'crap cop ride,' slapped on rubber gloves and took the license. Curiously, she turned it about, and frowned. "Huh. Says here she's from Forks, Washington." What was she doing in Montana? "Who found her?"

Excessive hand gestures from Littlesea. "George Barnes."

She gave him a blank stare. "Okay, I'm lost. Should I know him?"

He rolled his eyes. "Gee, I don't know, maybe? I mean, he only sells the best hunting rifles in the state! Unbelievable. How could you live here and not know George Barnes?"

"Two things. I live under a rock, and I'm too busy hunting evil people to worry about hunting innocent animals. You about done fan-girling?"

He sighed. "Okay, done."

She grabbed the cup, took a long gulp of the now cooling coffee. "Did you notify the next of kin?"

"That's the thing. There's no 'next of kin.' Her family died in a car accident when she was twelve. No grandparents on both sides, no aunts and uncles. Been living with her dad's friend since. Jonathan Harris."

"Notify him then."

"That's another thing. Jonathan Harris died two days ago." He flipped through his notebook. "Acute myocardial infarction. Heart attack, I mean."

"I know the term. Anything else I might need to know? A husband? Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Neighbors?"

"She lived alone with Harris, and they didn't have neighbors for miles."

Bella fought the urge to massage her temples. As much as she hated that notifying the next of kin was part of her job, she hated it more when the vics were social pariahs. "Check her work profile then. She went to work, didn't she?"

Littlesea broke out into a cute little frown. "I'll get Hart on it." He caught Detective Hart's eye and waved him down. "I, on the other hand, need to supervise Forensics."

"That's my job."

He pouted the way no grown man should pout. "Sorry. Chief's orders. He wants you to grill George Barnes. I hate that you always get the cool jobs. But then again, you can take me along, if you want. We can do the whole good-cop-bad-cop thing. You want to take me with you, right? Right?"

Bella rolled her eyes. "There's nothing I'd want more. So, George Barnes in HQ?"

"Hart got him there."

"Then I'll do the grilling later. It's fucking four in the morning, for God's sake."

Littlesea put his hands up in a sign of surrender. "Don't shoot the messenger, I was just telling you what the big C told me to. So. Are you taking me with you? I could help," he frowned at her glare. "Or not help. I would be totally, amazingly unobtrusive. You won't even know I'm there!"

Ugh. Littlesea. How could a grown man act like such a toddler? "Right. Who was the first on the scene?"

Littlesea frowned, but decided not to push it. "Jenkins. But I wouldn't approach him right now."

Curious. "Why is that?"

"Big C's with him."

Bella scowled. That made absolutely no damn sense. "And?"

"You just don't get it, do you? Chief Cane's badass. Kick-ass. Hard-ass. Tough-ass. He's like, the cop version of the Godfather."

Bella didn't bother pointing out to him that the Godfather probably wouldn't appreciate being compared to a cop, but she got the point. "I get the thing about Cane's ass. I just don't get what you're getting at."

Littlesea's eyes became watermelons. "Doesn't he scare you? At all?"

Bella thought about it. Of course Cane scared her. Around seven years ago, he just about scared the ever-loving shit out of her. He'd scold her and she'd think he would pull out his gun and put six new holes on her face. But Cane wasn't a vampire, nor was he a psychopathic homicidal maniac, so there was that. He'd also saved her from the streets, and was as close to a father figure to her as her real father had been. There was that, too. Bella closed her eyes at the thought. Her dad was gone, but at least she had Cane. He just took some getting used to.

Now she's used to him. Now she just wanted to strangle his old ass, Mrs. Cane's wrath be damned.

She shuddered, remembering Mrs. Ursula Cane. If old Bill was a monster, then Ursula was a monster's nightmare. "Cane's a softie."

Littlesea choked on air. "And I have huge bouncing boobs. Get real, Swan. There's nothing soft about the guy. Hell, I think even his eyeballs are made of titanium."

Bella almost smiled. She felt a twitch on her cheek that threatened to destroy her semi-permanent frown. But no. Not in front of Littlesea. She gave him a withering stare instead. "You'll get used to him."

As if on cue, more people from the forensics team arrived in their usual nondescript black van. Bella made out Stills Hanson, grey-haired head of the team. Hanson gave her a cool nod as she approached. He was pulling out the teeth from the bloody mess that used to be the vic's jaw.

"Hanson," she nodded.

"Lieutenant," he grunted.

Bella yanked the cigarette from his mouth and dunked it in the paper cup in her hand, where it died in the coffee with a hissing sound. She'd be needing another cup of coffee soon. Her brain was still heavy from sleep. It hadn't been a smooth two weeks since the first "mauling." Her nerves were shot.

"Anything to report?"

Hanson eyed her cup, frowned. "Prints are all the vic's. No fur or any saliva to prove that she'd been attacked by an animal. Half my team's thinking suicide, as if humans actually have the capacity to rip themselves to shreds. I work with drooling idiots, Swan." He paused then eyed her with a raised eyebrow. "You're awake."

Bella shrugged. Awake. Right. Death warmed over was more like it. Hanson knew how much she hated getting up so early. Everybody knew. And yet here she was, in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of moody cops, freezing her ass off in the cold winter night, a cancer stick in her coffee.

The things she did for justice. "Littlesea called, I answered."

"Well," Hanson turned to look at Littlesea, who was talking to Hart animatedly. "I see he's alive. How come?"

She held up the cup.

"Ah. Bribery. I should've known. Smart kid."

"He's alright," she shrugged. For a blubbering idiot.

Then, as quick as that, there was nothing left in her mind but work.

* * *

Bella stretched her legs and glared at the cork board in front of her. Pinned pictures, newspaper cutouts, strings of yarn, and zero connection. Nothing made sense. The murders were too different, the victims too varied. There were already three dead so far, in two weeks, and she was getting nowhere.

She unfolded her laptop and started with her homework for the thirty-second time. She had the government files, but maybe Google would give her more.

**rita millers forks washington|**

A few Facebook and Twitter accounts. Three MySpace accounts. Who even used MySpace anymore? She checked them anyway, but found nothing. Nothing that would help solve the case.

She tried looking up the two previous victims, and still she ended up with nothing. Zilch. Nada.

Bella frowned, folded her laptop. She was stuck, and she didn't know what to do next. "Damn it all to hell and back."

"Cussing at your computer at five in the morning? I'm sure there's a wonderful story behind this."

Bella spun around on her swivel chair. "Weber. Shit. I didn't think you'd get here so early."

Dr. Angela Weber laughed. "None of that, Bella. You know you can always call me Angela. Like old times. Like high school."

'Stupid times' was what Bella wanted to call her high school years. She was 'Stupid Bella' back then. "We're not in high school anymore, doctor."

Dr. Weber fixed her with a penetrating stare. The one that made Bella feel like she was naked. Stupid Bella would have flinched and looked away. Lieutenant Bella Swan held the doctor's gaze steadily.

"Of course," said Weber. "And I trust you're coping well?"

Coping?

"With your father's death, I mean," the doctor supplied helpfully.

Bella's responding glare was arctic. "It's been more than a decade."

"Some wounds take longer to heal than most."

No shit, Sherlock. Seeing your own dad being ripped to shreds? See if Betadine can fix your brain after _that_. Some wounds _never_ healed at all. "I think I'm dealing with a serial killer," she said, discussing the more relevant topic at hand. She wouldn't, _couldn't_, deal with her traumatic issues right now. Not when three people were dead, unavenged. Not with their killer running loose. "I have the files of all three victims, pictures, video footage of the crime scenes." She handed Weber the huge manila envelope that sat on her table.

Weber scanned through the pictures. "Animals?"

"Nobody believes that. No saliva, no fur, no tracks. It's murder through and through, and the killer is very human."

"And you're thinking it's the same killer, for all three of them."

Bella gave her a stare.

"Of course you do," Dr. Weber browsed through the files more thoroughly, her eyebrows scrunched up in concentration. "And I'm assuming that you want me to psychoanalyze this killer, based on the facts about his victims."

Another stare.

Weber sighed. "You never talked much, even back then. But at least you were kind about it."

"Kindness kills."

Weber laughed. She gestured to Bella's office. "And yet you're here. Fighting evil. Tell me if that isn't kindness."

"It isn't." There was nothing kind about the way she brought murderers down.

Weber was giving her a strange smile. "Sometimes we turn away from the things that make us who we are, only to come back full circle and embrace them anyway."

"No, Weber. I can't have you psychoanalyzing me and giving me fortune cookie quotes, not now. I haven't had any decent sleep in weeks. I need a profile on the perp. That's all I need. We deal with the murders first. We can deal with me later."

The doctor frowned. "It can't be healthy, all this repression. Are you still having nightmares?"

Cane should have kept his mouth shut about that one. She can deal with her own damn problems. She shook her head. "Not now, Weber."

"Fine. Later, then. You'll eventually have to talk about it."

Talking about her father's gruesome death was the one thing she was sure she didn't _have_ to do. Bella fought the urge to massage her temples. "One day. I'm not ready."

Weber studied her with concern for a few seconds, before turning her attention back to the files. "I'll need some time with these."

Bella nodded. "Take as long as you need." It wasn't like she was making any progress with it anyway. "I'll go get some coffee."

"Okay. Oh and Bella?"

She looked over her shoulder and at the doctor. "Yes?"

"It's good to see you."

Bella managed a thin smile. "It's only been seven months since you last came here."

"And that was a total coincidence. Are you sure you don't want to visit? Forks is worse off without you."

Bella pondered that. She was better off without Forks, so did that mean she ruined the town? It had been seventeen years. She could hardly imagine anyone talking about her still. Not even gossip that juicy could last for that long. And why the hell would she visit? There wasn't enough of Charlie left in Forks to bind her to that dreary place. By the time the police found them the night he died, he was already a mesh of fleshy ribbons.

She shuddered. Forks, Washington. The place where nightmares came to life.

She made herself a steaming mug of coffee, turned down the hallway, and stopped at the new interrogation room. Littlesea was waiting for her, a box of donuts in his hand.

"Amazing. How did you get through the bullpen alive?"

He shrugged. "I bought two boxes, threw one at the crowd."

"That's not stupid," Bella said as Littlesea let her have her pick.

"It's genius. So, can I come in with you now?"

"No." She bit into the honey-glazed donut. It tasted fresh. "But you can watch. From outside."

"Like a voyeur?" He teased.

"Yeah. Whatever."

Bella closed the door behind her, her boots thudding heavily each step she took towards the bare table. George Barnes had his back to her, and she noticed his sandy brown hair glistening like combed silk under the artificial lighting. He seemed to be wearing a grey trench coat that cascaded from his shoulders to the chair to the tiled floor. He was holding his face in his palms.

"Mr. Barnes?" She said as she grabbed a chair, sat across the table from him. "I would like to ask you a few questions, if you wouldn't mind."

"I wouldn't mind at all," he said, lifting his face from his palms. "I wouldn't mind, Detective, but I'm quite a bit hungry now. You don't suppose I could eat here, do you?"

Bella gasped. She couldn't help it.

Oh Christ. Oh _Jesus Christ_. She was trapped inside a room with a vampire. George Barnes was a fucking vampire.


End file.
